Walking around the hospital's open terrace with my mother carrying a bucket full of washed clothes to find an empty space in the extraordinarily crowded maze-like clotheslines that ran across all directions, my ruffled frock flowing all the way up in the whooshing wind, watching the bright orange setting sun against the crowded city in my mother's arms, feeling the softness of the fluffy toys from the first floor's gift shop, the satisfying aroma of freshly steamed idlies and sambar spices from the hospital kitchen, and the torrent of comfortably warm sunlight showering into the cancer wards were my earliest few memories. At age 4 years, I spent weeks together in the cancer wards accompanying my mother, my grandmother's bystander. Ammamma received a diagnosis of acute lymphoblastic leukemia. I had not yet formed a deep emotional bond with my Ammamma. Except for the 2 Aesop's fables she told me, we rarely exchanged conversations. However, I fondly recollect her underbelly's maternal warmth and safety transferred in the limited number of half embraces we shared as we slept beside each other. But this was way before her hospitalization. Her leukemia made it difficult for her to even sleep uninterruptedly. On many days, she screamed in pain. She was unfathomably distressed. That is when a red-colored radio was brought home that played her favorite classical Indian music pieces, particularly 鈥淢ahaganapatim.鈥� This lent her a small amount of comfort. On several levels, music humanized her.